


The storm-maker

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Humor, M/M, Mycroft Holmes IS the British Government, Mycroft To The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: Written for the Facebook group Mystrade is our division: A fic with the word Storm.Mycroft is the best guy in the world, and can cause storms to get rid of clowns.





	The storm-maker

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Doyle, Gatiss and Moffat.  
English is not my first language, this was translated with the translator Deepl, I regret any error.

\- Come on, Sherlock, don't be ridiculous!

Sherlock advanced moody to great strides for the garden of the mansion that Greg and his brother shared, making fuss and displaying his indignation so that everyone could appreciate it as it deserved, while John, snorting, ran after it.

\- I tell you it was him! I checked all the national and international weather reports, and none announced any storms! Besides, what kind of storm lasts ten minutes? It fell only in and around the park! Mycroft has once again used government resources to annoy me. They can...

\- Yes, yes, they can cause storms with planes and lasers, I know. But I don't think a birthday party is something that Mycroft would involve the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Environment just to bother you with.

John was willing to save the situation, although he couldn’t help but doubt...

It was Rossie's sixth birthday, and Sherlock had prepared a big theme party for her in the park.   
All of Rossie's favorite people would be there: Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg and, Sherlock and John were still not finished accepting him, Mycroft.

Because, of all Rossie's favorite people, it turned out that Mycroft was, in the girl's textual words, "The number one on her list of favorite people in the world."

Yes, the Mycroft who called her Rosmund and never used a diminutive with her, neither called her a princess nor praised her for things that were not her merit, such as the color of her hair or how well her dress looked. The Mycroft who didn't tell her a thousand times a day how precious and special she was, who didn't give her silly little faces or talk to her like she was a baby, who didn't tell her not to get angry if something bothered her, who didn't play down her "problems" by saying that they were things for children or that when she grew up she would understand absolutely everything, who never told her that tomorrow things would be better, as if they were going to fix themselves during the night by magic. The Mycroft who said yes, that adults were idiots and that with the passage of time they only got any worse. The Mycroft who never sat with her to watch Disney movies and if he did it was to explain to her why those goofy and submissive princesses were not an example to follow and that she should stay away from the stupid and presumptuous blue princes who didn't remember your face after the dance. The Mycroft who left her at her own pace when she was in a bad mood, without forcing her to talk or change her attitude, giving her all the time and space she needed, who did not treat her with condescension or interrupt her when explaining something, and not pretending to be surprised and amazed when she discovered something new, playing the fool, as if he hadn't known it before and she had done something extraordinary, exaggerating every achievement of the girl. That Mycroft, it was his weakness.

So Sherlock prepared a big theme party and, as could not be otherwise, the theme was clowns. There were balloons in the shape of a clown, cookies in the shape of a clown, a band of music made up of clowns, juggling clowns, balancing clowns, clowns playing the clown...  
The day had dawned clear and sunny, a beautiful spring day.   
Ten minutes after arriving at the park and preparing the picnic, preparations in which Mycroft had not even pretended to participate, staying close to the car and looking not so disguisedly at the pocket watch, the clouds darkened the sky and the storm broke loose.  
Everyone looked around with astonishment. Of all of them, the one who seemed most surprised and upset was Mycroft.  
\- Well, a real pity, Sherlock, it was a lovely party. But we don't want Rosmund to catch pneumonia, do we? We'd better get on with the party at home....  
Taking Greg in one hand and the girl in the other got in the car, letting the others pick up.

Fortunately, Anthea lived right in front of a bakery, she could easily replace the cake ruined by the rain.   
Fortunately, the telephones of her favorite places to eat at home were next to the fridge.   
Fortunately, he knew a group of actors who would be delighted to offer them a small, fun private theatre performance.  
Fortunately, the house had enough passageways and rooms to organize a treasure hunt with small clues in a few minutes.

It was a day full of fortunate coincidences, thought Greg, as he looked at his companion with a funny expression, unable to contain his smile.  
Mycroft was very busy looking at his nails as he got out of the car, trying to avoid his brother's inquisitive gaze when a blond whirlwind pounced on his legs.   
How Mycroft was able to hold a six-year-old girl in her arms wet from the rain, with paint stains on her hands, mud on her shoes, cookie remains and glitter on her face and remain completely immaculate in her elegant three-piece suit was something that no one could ever understand, but that seemed completely unfair to everyone. 

The girl buried her head in her neck.

\- Thank you for not telling them I'm scared of clowns, Uncle Mycroft.

\- Your secrets are my secrets, Rosmund.

They shared a brief conspiratorial smile, before leaving it on the floor so that I could greet another of his favorite people, who had just arrived.

Greg greeted Anthea, who should have broken all the laws of physics in order to arrive so quickly and with so many bags in the car, before facing Mycroft.

\- Honey, that storm...- Greg let the silence spread, Mycroft gave him the most innocent look ever seen in the history of mankind.  
\- Yes, darling?

Greg smiled, nodding.

\- Leave it, I'd rather not know. 

He kissed him briefly, laughing at Sherlock's indignant whimper before heading home. Yes, he thought, there's nothing Mycroft Holmes wouldn't do for those he loved. Even provoke storms.


End file.
